On the first day, she sadly packed her belongings into boxes, crates and suitcases.

On the second day, she had the movers come and collect her things.

On the third day, she sat down for the last time at their beautiful dining-room table, by candle-light; she put on some soft background music, and feasted on a pound of shrimp, a jar of caviar,and a bottle of spring-water.

When she’d finished, she went into each and every room and deposited a few half-eaten shrimps dipped in caviar into the hollow centre of the curtain rods.

She then cleaned up the kitchen and left.

On the fourth day, the husband came back with his new girlfriend, and at first all was bliss.

Then, slowly, the house began to smell.

They tried everything; cleaning, mopping, and airing-out the place. Vents were checked for dead rodents, and carpets were steam cleaned.

Air fresheners were hung everywhere. Exterminators were brought in to set off gas canisters, during which time the two had to move out for a few days, and in the end they even paid to replace the expensive wool carpeting. Nothing worked!

People stopped coming over to visit. Repairmen refused to work in the house. The maid quit..

Finally, they couldn’t take the stench any longer, and decided they had to move, but a month later – even though they’d cut their price in half – they couldn’t find a buyer for such a stinky house.

Word got out, and eventually even the local realtors refused to return their calls.

Finally, unable to wait any longer for a purchaser, they had to borrow a huge sum of money from the bank to purchase a new place.

Then the ex-wife called the man and asked how things were going. He told her the saga of the rotting house. She listened politely and said that she missed her old home terribly and would be willing to reduce her divorce settlement in exchange for having the house.

Knowing she could have no idea how bad the smell really was, he agreed on a price that was only 1/10 th of what the house had been worth … but only if she would sign the papers that very day.

She agreed, and within two hours his lawyers delivered the completed paperwork.

A week later the man and his girlfriend stood smiling as they watched the moving company pack everything to take to their new home and to spite the ex-wife, they even took the curtain rods!

Thank You Pat for the joke.

Have you ever woken up in the wrong bed?

Thank You Pam for the picture.

When Grandma Goes to Court. (This was sent to me as a true story?)

In a trial, a southern small-town prosecuting attorney called his first witness, a grandmotherly, elderly woman to the stand. He approached her and asked, “Mrs. Jones, do you know me?”

She responded, “Why, yes, I do know you, Mr. Williams. I’ve known you since you were a boy, and frankly, you’ve been a big disappointment to me. You lie, you cheat on your wife, and you manipulate people and talk about them behind their backs. You think you’re a big shot when you haven’t the brains to realize you’ll never amount to anything more than a two-bit paper pusher. Yes, I know you.”

The lawyer was stunned. No knowing what else to do, he pointed across the room and asked, “Mrs. Jones, do you know the defence attorney?”

She again replied, “Why yes, I do. I’ve known Mr. Bradley since he was a youngster, too. He’s lazy, bigoted, and he has a drinking problem. He can’t build a normal relationship with anyone, and his law practice is one of the worst in the entire state. Not to mention he cheated on his wife with three different women. One of them was your wife. Yes, I know him.”

The defence attorney nearly died.

The Judge asked both counsellors to approach the bench and, in a very quiet voice, said, “If either of you idiots asks her if she knows me, I’ll send you both to the electric chair.”

Since I’m in Ireland at the moment, I’ll share an Irish joke … actually, a true story … with you.

During the war, my grandfather employed an Irishman on his farm. One morning, he tasked him to harness up the horse and cart, and load it with manure, to keep the muck-spreader supplied. This work took up most of the day, and, towards the end, Grandad instructed Seamus to load the cart one last time, and convey it to a smallholder on the other side of the valley.

Horse-drawn vehicles had to have a plate on the side with the name and address of the owner on it, and by this time, the cart was pretty well contaminated. And, on the way home, he met an over-officious policeman, who said to him:

I love coming over here for a laugh. Loved this. Both the jokes are hilarious and the photo of the dogs is one of the best I’ve ever seen. The large dog is a gentleman from the old school. Giving up one’s bed is so old fashioned these days.

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